


The Tutor Dynasty

by PrincessDianaArtemis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Thick, Beards (Facial Hair), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Child Warlock Dowling, Crowley has a Thing for Aziraphale's Forearms, Crowley is a model, Dowling Era, Flexible Crowley, Hand Jobs, Implied Masturbation, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Fanart, Love Confessions, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex on Furniture, Sexual Tension, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Strength Kink, Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens), Thaddeus is Oblivious, Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens), Thirsty Crowley (Good Omens), Thirsty Harriet Dowling, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Warlock's Tutors, WhiteleyFosters Fanart, everyone's thirsty, forearms, hot for teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDianaArtemis/pseuds/PrincessDianaArtemis
Summary: Inspired by @WhiteleyFoster interpretation of Warlock's Tutors - which was inspired by @naniiebim's interpretation of Warlock's Tutors.The Dowling Household has been thrown into a loop by the newest arrivals - two tutors that seem like they came out of everyone's wet dreams, but what these two get into together - well, that's a bit of a secret.Also, Harriet gets a bit of an eyeful that fuels her dreams for a while 👀
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Mr Cortese/Mr Harrison (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 238





	The Tutor Dynasty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhiteleyFoster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts).



> I'm not a smut writer, I write fluff, so this was a bit of a challenge 😅
> 
> Hopefully, this serves justice to the fantastic artwork it was inspired by.

Harriet Dowling was not a saint - she knew this and wasn’t dumb enough to think that she could trick anyone otherwise. She cursed like a sailor whenever she was out of earshot of her misogynist husband, she knew that she liked her wine a little too much and that her crush on Warlock’s former Nanny was a little out of order - but it just made her human.

And being human meant  _ looking _ .

-

After Warlock had outgrown the aforementioned Nanny, the woman was dismissed. For her part, Nanny Ashtoreth accepted the change with dignity as she packed her bag, pecked Warlock on the cheek, and bid her goodbyes. And, not because they were gossips or anything, but the household had a feelings she left with more than she’d arrived with when their queer gardener left not long afterwards claiming he’d ‘found a new calling’. 

But as they were decidedly  _ not _ gossips, the two of them were forgotten and the Dowlings began their search for a tutor. Their first applicant had been perfect - well, to Thaddeus it was  _ almost _ perfect - but he was hired nonetheless. It had nothing to do with how attractive the man was, nor how charming, and especially nothing to do with the fact that Harriet had been left in charge of hiring.

Jareth Harrison was a tall, slim man that was usually decked in red and black, a familiar shade of red-hair shorn close that led to his trimmed beard. Harriet had taken one look at him - followed the length of his body from the shine of his snake-skin shoes to his untucked shirt, to the collar of his plaid suit - and felt herself run hot.

More often that not, she found herself peeking into Warlock’s lessons just to get a glimpse of the man bending over the desk while instructing the boy and glimpsing his tight pants around his pert and perky butt. She had been lucky enough once to peek in just as he was stretching and the untucked shirt lifted in just the right way to reveal the jut of hip-bones that models would be envious of and a trail of flame-red hair that traveled down and tucked into the front of hellishly tight pants and led right to - 

Harriet ran straight upstairs, feeling her mouth grow dry while other parts grew moist.

-

Harrison, however, was not enough for Thaddeus. He wanted to make sure that Warlock had a well-rounded education and so they sought another part-time tutor. With him gone, though, the hiring fell into Harriet’s lap  _ again _ . And she wasn’t looking forward to parading boring academics through her sitting room.

That is...until Mr. Israfil Cortese walked in and she choked on her coffee.

The exact opposite of Harrison, Cortese was soft everywhere the first tutor was thin. But there was more to the softness than first presented. At her insistence, Cortese took off his coat before sitting, rolling up his shirtsleeves and revealing thick, strong forearms covered in thin, white-blond hair that rivaled the strength hinted at by the stretch of his powder blue shirt across his back and the barrel-chest.

Even the chef, who’d come to drop off a tray of biscuits almost dropped said tray when, at the first bite, Cortese gave a loud, satisfied little noise that boiled in her blood. She’s been so flustered, she missed the complement that the concerned man had showered her as she bowed her way out.

Harriet had seen enough, enough of this beast of a man that gave her genuine smiles through the wool-like coils of his beard, of this  _ godsend _ that was kind and unfairly attractive. And he was qualified, so she hired him before embarrassing herself any further.

-

Crowley had arrived back to the Dowling Household with a new costume and name, but with the same intent. Where Ashtoreth was a temptress because of the mystery, he intended Jareth to be sin-incarnate and run a couple of the staff into each other’s arms for a night of passion - then a morning of regret. 

_ Serves them right after all the rumors they spread about Ashtoreth and Francis _ , he thought with a sniff.

He already knew that Harriet’s eyes were roaming over him and he stepped up his game to make sure the woman, already so human and lonely, would try and extinguish her desire elsewhere.

So long as it wasn’t with him.

He’d been having so much fun, parading around and emulating Aziraphale’s fussy academic ways, that Crowley had almost forgotten that the angel himself was supposed to join him. That is, until he felt the wave of lust in the mansion that was not being caused by him.

His curiosity fully piqued, he left Warlock skimming an illustrated copy of  _ The Art of War _ , and slinked downstairs into the sitting room where Harriet was interviewing tutors. When he landed on the first floor, his saunter lost its swing at the sight before him.

_ That’s it _ , he thought.  _ He’s had it with me and wants me to discorporate but -  _ **_wow_ ** _ , what a way to go. _

If he had thought that his Jareth disguise was sinful, he had nothing on the angel before him - the clothes hugging every thick-corded muscle of his upper body, the dark grey of his trousers and vest, and then the  _ beard for Satan’s sake _ . Crowley wanted nothing more than to get on his knees and worship the vision before him.

“Ah, Mr. Harrison,” said Harriet, bringing his brain back into action and away from the sensations of his body. “This is Israfil Cortese, your - partner, I guess you can call him. Warlock’s other tutor. Mr. Cortese - Jareth Harrison.”

Aziraphale’s eyes followed the trail from his feet up and felt dirty, even for a demon, at the way his eyes tracked up his body.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cortese,” said Crowley, clearing his throat and extending his hand.

Strong pressure against his hand anchored him through the smile that Aziraphale shot him, “Please, the pleasure is all mine.”

_ Satan, preserve me. He really does want to discorporate me.  _

Harriet looked between them and her smile tightened, “Right. Anyway you two will be spending a  _ lot  _ of time together. I hope the two of you get along.”

Crowley swallowed around the thickness in his throat, “We endeavor to do so, Mrs. Dowling.”

-

After the second hire, the whole household fell into two teams - like teenage girls swooning over book characters - there were those that followed Harrison around like lost puppies wanting his attention (usually the younger members) or those that would drop anything if Cortese needed something (the chef, the head of security, among the older members of the staff). But they paid no one any mind except their ward and, to everyone’s interest and disappointment, each other. 

It wasn’t a rare sight to find the two of them among the flowers during Warlock’s recess, Cortese sitting primly at the bench while Harrison draped himself along the nearest surface causing the almost-crash of the new groundskeeper on the riding-lawn mower. Everyone who passed them would stare at one or the other, then leave in disappointment when they realized that their eyes were glued on each other. 

Warlock loved them. The way that Harrison’s science experiments caused just a hint of mischief for the rest of the staff and how Cortese would find interesting people in history and talk about them as if he had known them (he had). But more than that, he loved listening to them bicker back and forth on one topic or another.

“Mom,” he said one day after Harriet had come to pull the men away from each other’s throats, “they’re making sure I understand the di- dichotomy of good and evil. Of dark and light?”

“What?”

“Opposites, Mom,” an eye roll, “We were talking about  _ opposites _ .”

In the quiet moments before and after class, when the snooping household would try to corner their favorite tutor for a moment alone, they found them together - Harrison circling the thicker man like a coiling snake and a smoldering look on Cortese’s face that brought heat crawling, high towards their face then low towards their nethers, on whichever spy’s body was lurking in the shadows. 

But whatever it was that they got up to, no one knew - well, except for the biggest snoop of the mansion.

-

Aziraphale was reclining in a chair overlooking the fireplace, book nestled in his lap as his fingers skimmed the edges of the page. He heard rather than saw Crowley shift and a smirk curled his lips.

“My dear, you seem uncomfortable, is something the matter?”

Crowley shifted again on the couch, “Ngk, I - for Satan’s sake, angel, you’re  _ indecent _ .”

Hazel eyes glanced down upon the resting body, then flickered over to where the serpent continued to squirm, “I am completely dressed, my bowtie is even perfectly tied. Whatever are you talking about?”

“Thissss,” Crowley said, springing up and gesturing at the whole of Aziraphale, “First off, stop getting the book off with thosssse caressssess. And sssecond, sssince when do you own something that’s not tan or tartan? And where did you get thosssse trouserssss? And what in  _ hell’ssss sssssake _ gives you the right to uncover your forearmsssss?”

As if noticing his arms for the first time, Aziraphale ran his fingertips across the fine hairs, eliciting another choked sound from Crowley. He turned an overly wide-eyed expression up at Crowley.

“Dearest,” he stopped to allow the whimper to escape his friend’s mouth, “I just don’t know what you mean. My tailor said that this was the perfect thing to wear, a modern cut, comfy and close. I simply don’t know why you’re complaining, you’ve been telling me to update my wardrobe for decades.”

“Yes, but not like thissss.”

Aziraphale closed the book and placed it on the table beside him, brushing his lap before standing up and closing the space between him and Crowley. He took in the rising color across the freckled nose and crawled up his neck, the hard swallow, and then lifted his eyes to the glasses.

“Ah, I see,” said Aziraphale, reaching out towards the glasses. “May I?”

Crowley gave another hard swallow and a minuscule nod, allowing Aziraphale to slide the glasses off his face and tuck it into the pocket of his vest. Then he gave Crowley another once-over, before he spoke again:

“You come into this mansion, looking like sex-on-two-legs and try to incite lust and envy,” Aziraphale said, crossing his arms. “And think that you have the right to comment on anyone else’s indecency.”

“Wot?” asked Crowley, eyes wide and fully serpentine. “Me? It’s my job, angel, you - you’re inciting lust, as well. The chef wants nothing more than to accidentally land on your prick and have you drill her into next month.”

“Language, dear,” tutted Aziraphale. “And the thing is that none of them have a chance - ”

“Course, y’re an ang - ”

“ - because I can’t keep my eyes off of you.”

There was an audible ‘click’ as Crowley’s mouth shut and his eyes shot to Aziraphale’s. The once mischievous look softened and intensified, filled now with a strange hunger and something akin to lo - well, a feeling he dared not mention.

“Aziraphale - ”

“Darling, if you want me to stop, please say something,” Aziraphale said, voice shaking, as his arms unwound and his fingers reached up to rub against the red stubble. “Say you don’t want this and we’ll go back to normal. Like this never happened.”

Crowley swayed forward, head nudging the hand on his face, “Don’t you think - isn’t this - too fast?”

A low chuckle rolled from Aziraphale’s chest, “If we don’t succeed with Warlock, there won’t be time afterwards to try to take it slow. Now’s all we have. So I ask again: darling, do you want this?”

“Fuck yeah,” Crowley said, pitching himself forward and capturing Aziraphale’s lips into a desperate, open-mouthed kiss.

The hand that had been caressing his face climbed and entwined into the short red hair, giving a tug that had Crowley biting back a moan as Aziraphale’s mouth traveled down the expanse of his neck.

“You call me indecent,” growled Aziraphale between kisses and bites, “when you look like this. When I can see these scrumptious collarbones peeking from your shirt?” His free hand wound around Crowley’s hipbones and cupped his ass, pushing him against the firm body before him. “And as always with these painfully tight trousers.”

A groan, then long fingers crawled up Aziraphale’s front and began unbuttoning his vest, “Me? Your tailor was out to fucking discorporate me. Your  _ arms _ , your  _ chest,” _ Crowley punctuated that by pushing the vest off his shoulders, “ _ and these shoulders _ .”

“Forgot I was a warrior?”

“I wanted to go down and worship you that first day, right in front of Harriet, I didn’t care. I wanted to feel every muscle of your body” he said and licked down Aziraphale’s neck towards the bowtie that was coming undone with angel or demonic magic - no one was really keeping track.

“Blashem -  _ oh _ .”

Crowley chuckled and bit down on the newly exposed shoulder, “Demon. And this beard, I want it to mark every inch of me, feel it for weeks to come - remind me that we did this that you - ”

He hesitated and Aziraphale kissed it away, “Yes, my love. I do. I do. Let me show you how much.”

Strong arms slid down the sides of Crowley’s body and hooked hands under his thighs, picking him up and pushing him against Aziraphale’s soft middle and hardening cock. At the brush of the bulge against his ass, a moan poured from one mouth to the other as they found their balance against the nearby desk.

“ _ Holy _ ,” Crowley said, words willed away by the rock of Aziraphale’s hips against his and he scrambled for the seams of clothes. “Please, angel, I need you now. Please,  _ please _ .”

“Never thought I’d see the day when you begged - I like the sound of it,” said Aziraphale, sweeping his tongue over an exposed nipple. “Let me take care of you, darling.”

He snapped his fingers and Crowley found himself divested of his clothes while the angel before him was still have dressed - vest gone, shirt unbuttoned, and trousers uncomfortably tight. The soft fingers danced down the length of Crowley’s legs and he slotted himself right between them. The fabric of the shirt teased the tip of his dripping cock and the feeling was quickly replaced by a thumb smearing the precum over and down.

“Hng, keep that up and I won’t last long.”

Aziraphale snorted, “We are eternal beings - refractory periods don’t have to be a thing if you will it away.”

“Hedonist.”

“You love it.”

And love it he did because the moment Aziraphale’s clever fingers squeezed and started pumping his long member, playing him like a well-tuned instrument as he alternated between bollocks and cock until he spilled down his hands.

“Angel, in me,  _ now _ .”

A white-blond eyebrow raised and he licked his fingers, “Patience, love. Let me get you nice and ready.”

-

Harriet finished putting a rowdy Warlock to bed, wishing that Ashtoreth was still there if only to get the boy to sleep as easily as she used to, and was heading to bed herself. Exhaustion weighed down her bones and she trudged. 

Then she heard a little breathless moan from the library and curiosity shook away her tiredness. If there was one thing that Harriet knew, it was that there was only one person that hid away in the library before bed - Israfil Cortese - and that the sound she heard was not of good reading. That was a sex noise.

She smoothed down her hair and fixed her pajamas, glad she chose the silk nightgown instead of the oversized t-shirt of usual, and hoped that Mr. Cortese didn’t mind an interruption of his solo act if it meant a companion.

Images flooded Harriet’s mind, finding Cortese holding his impressive length stroking with those strong hands and he’d open his eyes to find her and, while being shy at first, he’d pull her forward and take her in his big arms and - 

A shiver ran down her body and she opened the door a crack, hoping he’d be visible from there, aglow with firelight. 

And she did find him - and see him, thick behind and muscled back exposed, lit by the fire behind him. But she was disappointed, and then shocked, to find that he wasn’t alone. The soft moans weren’t from Cortese, who was making little pleased grunts as he pounded into the body underneath him.

Legs hooked over Cortese’s broad shoulders, Jareth Harrison was making a litany of moans and whines and ‘faster, angel’, ‘please, angel’. His body pressed between the desk and wall, hard length being pumped by a beautifully manicured hand as he left scratch marks on the wallpaper behind him.

Harriet wanted to turn and go back to her room, mortified and disappointed with the results, but she was so enraptured by the scene, by the power in that strong back and the plushness of his stomach trapping Harrison in place and by the elegant arch of the lithe body. Her breath was coming in shallowly as she drank in the scene and as Cortese came inside Harrison, she noticed she’d been there for far too long and realized she had to leave.

In the comfort of her own room, she held her hand against her heaving chest, heat making her body vibrate with desire as she replayed the scene in her mind. A whine forced its way out as that warmth traveled low and settled.

“Well,” she said, biting her lip. “Thad is gone for the next week so - I guess I gotta get reacquainted with my old friend.”

With the memories of what she’d just witnessed, she dug around the room for her secretlittle box - and lost herself in the sensations that would make a demon proud of his accomplishments. 

-

The household settled soon after that as they soon realized that neither tutor was going to be paying attention to anyone.

And as Harrison and Cortese taught Warlock out on the lawn, hip-to-hip, Harriet watched, sitting on the secret she knew and wasn’t willing to share. After all, she wasn’t a saint - she was allowed her secrets and fantasies.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose Jareth for Mr. Harrison's way because I just know that Crowley watched Labyrinth and loved Bowie's character.
> 
> I chose Israfil for Cortese because the name is associated with Raphael (Azi-raphael) and Judgement Day.


End file.
